A Dozen Assorted
by Scheherezade06
Summary: Random Drabbles, hiatus musings, Tumblr prompts, AU ideas, and other short bits of CS and Killian Jones goodness.
1. Chapter 1

**Hiatus Musings, #1: Reunited, and it Feels So Good (my take on Emma getting her memory back, based on spoiler pics)**

**Rating: E for Everyone**

** . **

Frowning at the earnest (and possibly crazy) man in front of her, Emma uncapped the little bottle of disturbingly bright pink fluid.

"Bottom's up," she mumbled.

The blue-eyed man's lips twitched up into a smirk at her comment. His eyes were even prettier when he did that.

Emma took a deep breath and tossed back the crazy-town Kool-Aid. It burned like bad booze, and not just in her esophagus. Fire radiated out from her chest, up through her head and down through her limbs. It only took a moment, but it was intense. She swayed on her feet. Blinking, she saw the blue-eyed man—_Hook_—had his hand out to steady her if she needed it.

"Oh, my god," she gasped at him, searching his eyes.

He saw the recognition in her expression and his face lit up for a moment. Then he shuffled nervously and his brow furrowed.

"Emma," he said with embarrassment. "I'm sorry I had to disrupt your hap—"

"Shuddup," she said gruffly, throwing her arms around him.

He inhaled sharply in surprise, his arms tentatively coming to rest around her like she was a fragile, precious thing that might evaporate from his grasp.

"Swan," he said, his voice full of emotion.

"Shut up," she repeated, enunciating clearly this time. She huffed a sound that was half-chuckle and half-sniffle. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

"As you wish," he murmured into her hair, squeezing her tighter to his chest and running his fingers through her hair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hiatus Musings, #2: Storybook Love (my take on the "so you tried TLK" conversation, based on spoiler pics/info)**

**Rating: T, I guess?**

** . **

"So," Emma mused, swirling her drink, "you tried True Love's Kiss."

"Aye," he said, his face tightening for a second before going smooth again. "Thought it would have saved time, had it worked."

He was trying to play it off cool, but Emma could see that it had upset him.

"I guess you didn't talk to David about that, then," Emma said, baiting him.

"No," he said, his eyes meeting hers in surprised confusion, "I did not. Why do you mention it?"

She picked up her glass before speaking.

"He could have told you that it wouldn't work," Emma said, hiding her smile by taking a long drink.

He studied her for a moment, trying to suss out her intent.

"Is the prince privy to some secret I'm not?" He said, clearly curious and making negative assumptions.

"He is," Emma said.

He frowned, looking away.

"I see," he said darkly, taking a drink of his beer.

Emma leaned back, watching him carefully. She did enjoy teasing him, but she didn't want him to suffer unnecessarily.

"He tried it on Mary Mar—uh, Snow White when she had amnesia," Emma said, pausing for effect. She caught his eyes again and he looked cautiously curious.

"He _tried_ it?" he said.

"Yep," she said, popping the P and hiding behind her glass again.

"And it didn't work?" he asked, confused.

"Nope," she said in the same way, keeping her drink between them so he couldn't see her smirk.

"Because…" he began, brow furrowed. She could almost see the cogs turning in his head.

The way his face lit up when he figured it out was priceless.

"Swan," he whispered, his voice full of hope and longing. His eyes met hers with smoldering intensity.

Uh oh.

"That doesn't mean it _would_ have worked on me," Emma said quickly. "Uh, I'm just saying that trying it was a dumb thing to do."

"Idiotic," he said, his lips curling up.

"Stupendously stupid," she affirmed, gesturing with her mug.

"But if you have your memories…" he hinted, leaning in.

She set down her drink and licked her lips.

"There's no magic here," she challenged.

"So if I kissed you now..?" he murmured, eyes glinting mischievously.

"Nothing would happen," she said. Her eyes darted unconsciously to his lips.

"Nothing at all, love?" he purred. He leaned closer, his gaze flicking to her mouth. He raised an eyebrow.

"Not a thing," she said, a little too breathily.

She made herself lean back, picking up her drink as a shield. They were in a crowded pub after all, and he still hadn't explained about the danger her parents were in.

He read her and mirrored her, letting the moment pass. He raised his glass.

"Here's to David getting kneed in the jewels," he said, blue eyes dancing with mirth.

Emma clinked her glass to his.

"Actually, I think he got punched in the face," she said.

"I'll drink to that," he said, grinning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Tumblr Prompt: Three Sentence AU Fanfiction based on a pairing and setting given by another user. **

**I was given: "**Captain Swan. Star Wars - Leia/Han Solo style." **by **youhavemehooked

**This is my take on a scene from "The Courtship of Princess Leia" (one of the, like, three Star Wars books I've actually read).**

**Rating: T**

** . **

The ship jostled and swerved around them; Henry was flying the Falcon and firing the blaster canons, sweating with effort, doing the job of three people simultaneously; Gethzerion had shattered his leg and several teeth, but Killian couldn't care about that when Emma was kissing him, finally kissing him.  
"Emma," he said, pouring as much emotion as he could into one short, mumbled word, reaching up to stroke her cheek as she drew back to give him that princess-ly how-dare-you-put-me-through-this look.  
"Shut up," she said, clearly fighting a smirk as she slapped a painkiller patch on his arm, "you stupid, scruffy-looking, _pirate_."


	4. Chapter 4

**Random OUAT/HP Drabble: Eleven-year-old, first year Hogwarts student Killian Jones is upset to be sorted Hufflepuff and talks it out with his seventeen-year-old, seventh year student brother.**

** Rating: E for Everyone**

** . **

"I wanted to be in _Gryffindor_, Liam," Killian whined, his eyes most certainly _not_ brimming with tears. "I _told_ that daft old hat I wanted to be in Gryffindor!"

"And what did the hat say?" Liam asked the younger boy.

"It gave me a _choice_," Killian huffed despondently.

Liam waited expectantly. Killian frowned and fidgeted, but Liam remained silent. Killian eventually sighed and explained.

"It told me it could do what I wanted or it could do what was _right_," Killian murmured, quietly, looking embarrassed.

Liam studied his little brother for a long moment.

"Why does it upset you so?" he asked in a gentle voice.

"I wanted to be important," Killian said.

Liam leaned back, steepling his fingers and touching them to his lips.

"You think being sorted to Hufflepuff makes you unimportant?"

"Everyone knows it's the house for orphans," Killian said bitterly. "For lost boys and girls that can't fit anywhere else."

Liam tilted his head to the side.

"How do you make that, little brother?"

"Gryffindor chose the bravest," Killian said, meeting Liam's eyes before looking pointedly at Liam's scarlet and gold tie. "Ravenclaw taught the cleverest, and Slytherin only wanted the ambitious. But Helga just took the rest—the ones that the other three didn't want."

"So, Gryffindors can't be clever?" Liam teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Not as clever as a Ravenclaw," Killian declared.

"Don't let Professor McGonagall hear you say that," Liam warned.

"I'm being serious, Liam," Killian complained.

"So am I, Killian," Liam said, "and I've been at Hogwarts a little while longer than you have, so you should listen to me."

Killian was still frowning, but he reluctantly gave Liam a "go on" gesture.

"So Gryffindors are brave, but some are brave and stupid," Liam said, making a face to indicate he knew this from experience. "And Ravenclaw—well, what good is cleverness without ambition? Or ambition without cleverness or bravery?"

Killian's brow furrowed.

"Killian, from what house was the last Hogwarts Tri-Wizard Champion?" Liam asked.

"Hufflepuff," Killian mumbled, looking away.

"Do you think the Goblet of Fire would choose a coward?" Liam asked. "Or an idiot? Or a lay-about?"

Killian sniffled and looked uncomfortable.

"Hufflepuffs have all the virtues of the other houses, Killian, and they're fair. Fair and loyal," Liam said. "Hufflepuffs exemplify _good form_."

Killian fidgeted, not quite pouting, but looking uncomfortable.

"But what if I'm not?" Killian protested after a moment. "What if I'm not brave or clever or ambitious?"

He chewed on his lip and stared up into Liam's eyes.

Liam made a chuffing sound and smiled at Killian.

"Then, little brother, you would not have received a letter."

Killian blinked at that.

Liam clapped his brother on the back and then mussed his hair.

"If there's a Jones brother who should be unhappy with his sorting, Killian, it is not you," Liam said. "Remember that. I'm proud, little brother. I'm proud that you're a Hufflepuff. So should you be."

Killian smiled weakly at Liam.

"Good form?" Killian said after a moment, testing the words. "I like the sound of that."

Liam nodded.

"I thought you might."


	5. Chapter 5

**Two Random OUAT/HP Christmas Drabbles: **

** - First, how Killian Jones lost his brother.**

** - Second, how Emma and Killian spent Christmas morning together in their 5th/6th year respectively.**

**This is slowly evolving in my head into an actual 'fic... I might have to export it to its own document... Hmm...**

**Rating: T**

**.**

Killian didn't particularly care for Christmas.

Liam had died at Christmas.

Killian had been so excited to go home for the holiday during his first year at Hogwarts. But their father's Death Eater "friends" had finally found the Jones brothers. Killian and Liam had run, Liam slinging spells over his shoulder as he propelled the younger boy ahead of him down the alley.

Killian had been sure that they'd made it to safety when he saw the flash of green. Liam made no sound as he fell forward, collapsing onto Killian, eyes glassed in death, mouth slack. Killian choked on his scream, his chest tight in fear and loss.

He didn't get to say goodbye.

Killian stayed in the alley all night, holding his brother's cooling body as tears spilled silently down his cheeks.

In the morning, a muggle garbage man found the Jones brothers and summoned the police.

.

.

Emma hadn't stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas break since her first year. Mary-Margaret had insisted she spend the holidays with her family for the past three, but the Blanchards were on a vacation in Egypt this winter. So, Emma was stuck at school on the Christmas morning of her fifth year at Hogwarts.

There was only one table in the Great Hall that morning, and there was only one student eating breakfast when Emma came down. He was right at the middle of the table, like the whole thing was his, but Emma could see the defensive slump of his shoulders. His normally sparkling blue eyes were sad, downcast. His mop of unruly hair was just as wild as it ever had been, but it looked a little less _messy-on-purpose_ and more _I-just-woke-up_.

Like Emma, Killian Jones had come down to breakfast in his pajamas. While hers were pale pink and plaid (a gift from Mary-Margaret), his were solid navy blue with a yellow collar and buttons. His collar was popped up, but like his hair, Emma couldn't tell if it was on purpose or accident.

Emma padded her way down the opposite side of the table from the sixth year boy and stepped over the bench across from him. He looked up suddenly, as though she'd apparated instead of walked up to him. His eyes were a little red. Perhaps he hadn't slept well. Emma knew her own eyes probably matched his.

"Happy Christmas," he said without a trace of happiness. "Swan, isn't it?"

"That's me," she said, sitting down across from him. "Merry Christmas, Jones."

"You've heard of me," he said with a ghost of a smirk. "Good things, I hope."

She rolled her eyes and started filling her plate. They ate in silence for a minute.

"I didn't know you were one of the Lost Boys," he said eventually, his eyes meeting hers with an appraising expression before darting around the empty hall.

"Lost Boys?" she said, looking around in confusion for a moment before his meaning dawned on her. "You mean orphans."

He nodded with a wry smile, clearly pleased that she'd caught the dark humor.

"Aren't you a pure blood?" Emma asked. "How do you know about the Lost Boys?"

"Love muggle literature, me," he said, all bravado and smugness, "love to see how wrong they are about magic."

"Oh?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Like all that rubbish about 'true love's kiss' breaking any curse," he made a dismissive snort.

"You've read Snow White?" she accused incredulously.

"Does that surprise you?" he said gently, his eyes more honest than she'd expected with his flirtatious reputation.

"Actually, yeah," Emma said. She chewed on her lip for a moment. "Will you be taking the class, then?"

"Class?" his eyebrows shot up. He looked genuinely curious.

"The Muggle Literature class that we're trying to create," she said, reaching for a cinnamon roll from a tray on his side of the table.

He plucked a particularly decedent-looking sweet bun from the tray and offered it to her.

"Who is 'we'?" he said as she took the roll from him, their fingers brushing.

"Thanks," she murmured, setting the pastry on her plate and then licking the errant icing from her fingers.

Killian was mirroring her, also cleaning his own hand with his mouth.

Emma looked away, trying to remember what he'd asked.

"Um, some friends of mine…" Emma said, taking a breath before looking at him again, "Professor McGonagall said she'd sponsor it if we get enough students."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "I think Briars mentioned something about that."

"Aurora?" Emma said, surprised that he'd know the younger girl. Then the realization hit her. "Right, you're both on the Quidditch team."

"Aye," he said. He looked amused but slightly disappointed.

Emma dimly remembered the Hufflepuff versus Slytherin game from October. She knew that Hufflepuff had won, but she and her other roommates had left when the game entered its fourth hour.

"I didn't stay for the whole game," Emma admitted, smiling apologetically.

"Neither did I," Killian said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"What?" she said incredulously. "You were _playing_ in that game!"

"We were up by 270 with Slytherin yet to score," he shrugged. "So I popped off for a drink."

Emma gaped at him for a moment. She absolutely believed that he was telling the truth, but she still couldn't quite imagine that he'd really done it. How had nobody noticed that the Hufflepuff Seeker had wandered off?

"What if the score had changed?" she asked, eyes wide.

"No one can get past Graham, Swan," Killian said with an easy shrug. "He's the best Keeper we've had in years. The only way the score could have changed is by going up for us by quaffle or up for them by snitch. We'd already won, so I let Jefferson find the little golden bugger to offset the trouncing."

Emma just shook her head, turning her eyes back to her breakfast. She poured herself a mug of cocoa.

"We'll see how you do in January, aye?" Killian said quietly after a moment.

Emma's head snapped up. He was smiling at her, almost shyly—where did _that_ come from?

"What," she said, as if she didn't know what he meant.

"Of course I know you made the team, love," Killian said, back to his usual, cocky smirk. "I'm the Captain, it's my job to know. Anyway, Dave told me. Well, threatened me's more like. He thinks rather highly of you. He was all 'watch your backside, Jones,' and placing wagers."

Killian picked up a strip of bacon and took a bite out of it, still watching her.

"You know David," Emma said, still off-balance.

"Respective team captains in the same year?" Killian said, raising an eyebrow again. "Aye, we've met."

Emma snorted at the sarcasm but made no reply.

"So, you're the new seeker for Gryffindor," Killian said, leaning forward on his elbows so he could study her. "I hope you're as good as Dave says. I love a challenge."

His smile was practically predatory. _This_ was the Killian Jones she'd heard about: hopeless flirt, cocky pretty-boy, confident team captain. She could deal with that.

"Yeah?" she said, leaning forward and grinning right back at him, "well David's wrong. You'll be watching _my_ backside as I beat you to the snitch."

"I wouldn't mind the view, love," he said saucily with a wink.

Emma's mouth fell open when she realized what she'd said. Clearing her throat, she decided to change the subject.

"So, are you interested in taking the lit class?" she asked, trying to regain her composure. She took a long sip of her cocoa.

"How many more do you need to make it happen, love?" he said, taking a drink from his own mug.

"We need at least seven, preferably ten, and we've already got…" she quickly counted in her head: _Me, Mary-Margaret, Ruby, Belle, Ariel, Aurora, probably David if Mary-Margaret has any say in it…_ "Six definite yeses and one maybe."

Killian nodded, looking thoughtful.

"Any year?" he asked.

"Third years and up," she said, nodding at him.

"Aye, you can count me in," he said seriously, giving Emma a little nod.

"Really?" she breathed, beaming.

"Aye," he said, favoring her with a genuine smile, "and I can fill your quorum, I think. August will be thrilled—loves books, him—and if Briars is in, I can convince Phil. Maybe Graham, too…"

"Thank you, Jones," she said seriously.

"You could call me Killian, lass," he teased with a smirk.

"That's not what's on your jersey, _captain_," she sassed back.

"So you have been watching my backside, eh, Swan?" he lilted, grinning. His blue eyes sparkled merrily.

"In your dreams," she huffed, rolling her eyes.

"You have no idea," he murmured, winking again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Random OUAT/HP Drabble: The Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch match to determine the winner of the Quidditch Cup.**

**Rating: T **

**.**

_There!_

Emma saw the glint of gold high in the sky and leaned in, flying faster, her hair streaming behind her as she raced toward the snitch. She could feel Killian closing in right behind her, just a little to her right. He was gaining, but she was nearly there. She reached out with her right hand, her left clutching the handle of her broom. The snitch was just a hairsbreadth away from her fingertips.

Suddenly, she was jerked backwards. Emma let out a startled gasp when she felt Killian hook her ankle and yank. He held her in place for a moment, ignoring the snitch as it hovered nearby and then darted off. After a moment, he released her and flew around her in a quick circle, ending the circuit in front of her, face to face.

"What the hell was that?" Emma demanded. She tried to fly around him, but he easily strafed to block her.

"What's the rush, Swan?" he said, grinning.

She stared at him in open-mouthed shock.

"What is wrong with you?" she finally hissed.

He sighed elaborately.

"Didn't you hear the cheering, love? Someone down there just scored," he said. "So you have to ask yourself, 'who was it?' because we're leading the points this season."

He leaned toward her and dropped his voice to a murmur: "Are you after the game or the cup?"

"I'm after the snitch," she snapped, trying a second time to dart around him. He blocked her again.

"Very short-sighted, Swan," he admonished, "you've got to think about the long game."

Far below them, a cheer rose again.

"There's another goal," Killian said, his intent eyes on Emma, "yours or mine?"

Emma did the math in her head. If both of the goals they'd heard were for Gryffindor and Emma caught the snitch, their houses would tie for the cup. If either of them had been Hufflepuff, then Killian's team was still leading the points for the season. If Emma had caught the snitch before Killian had snagged her leg, she would have won the game, but the cup would have gone to Hufflepuff.

"Why'd you stop me if you knew you'd win the cup?" she asked, frowning at him.

"I just like a fair fight," he replied, grinning again.

Emma narrowed her eyes. He was being honest, but something didn't add up.

"I thought no one could get past Graham?" she said with suspicion. "No one's been able to score on him the whole season. Why wouldn't you assume those were points for your team?"

Killian grinned wider.

"Maybe your Ruby could distract him once or… _twice_," he said, cocking his eyebrow mischievously at the last word.

Emma's mouth dropped open again.

"You're _trying_ to throw the game?" she accused.

"Of course not!" he said, brow crinkled, clearly offended. "Just evening the field, Swan. Who wants to play a fixed game?"

Emma just shook her head.

"So, what?" she ventured. "You want us to just sit up here and… do what, exactly?"

"Oh, I have many ideas on how to pass the time, darling," he purred, drifting closer to her.

Emma rolled her eyes and spotted her golden quarry off to her left. She watched it in her peripheral vision but kept her focus on the blue-eyed boy in front of her. She was hoping he hadn't noticed the snitch yet, since he seemed so intent on her.

"Oh, yeah?" she challenged, leaning toward Killian just a little, taking a deep breath.

He licked his lips, his eyes flicking down to her mouth.

"Aye," he replied, his voice a little huskier than usual.

"Too bad I've got a game to win," she murmured seductively.

Killian looked pricelessly confused for a split second before Emma threw her weight to the side and dropped like a stone. She swooped up behind him and to her left, zooming toward the golden flicker she'd seen in the distance. She heard him curse behind her and then he wheeled around to give chase.

He was fast—really fast—but she had a decent head start. He was gaining and was right beside her by time the snitch was almost within reach.

Emma swerved into Killian, forcing him to turn or collide with her. He turned, letting out a muffled oath.

"Good form," she heard him say as she stretched out her arm toward the fluttering sphere of gold. She was well within his reach. She knew he could easily repeat the maneuver he'd done earlier and drag her away from the snitch, but he didn't. She somehow knew he wouldn't.

She felt a surge of victory as her fingers curled around the snitch. She wheeled around, grinning, even though the only one who could see her was Killian. For some reason, he was grinning, too.

"Very good form," he said warmly. He extended his right hand to her. "Good game."

She took his hand, trying to give it a quick, polite shake, but he gripped hers with strong fingers, his thumb caressing her wrist.

"You are bloody brilliant," he said huskily, his smile transforming into something more heated.

"Thanks," she said a little shakily, withdrawing her hand.

He let go of her and took a breath, not quite a sigh.

"Shall we go see who has won the cup?" he asked, almost wistful.

"Yeah," she said, her own feelings mixed as well.

"Race you," he said, winking.

She nodded, and he immediately dropped, allowing his broom (and his body) to fall naturally toward the stadium far below. He rolled, so that he was facing her and spread his arms, holding his broom out at his side. He was grinning at her again.

And winning.

Filled with renewed determination, Emma hunkered down on her broom and dove.


	7. Chapter 7

**Random OUAT/HP Drabble: The first day of Introduction to Muggle Literature **

**Chronologically, this would happen after the Christmas Morning Drabble (ch5) and well before the Quidditch match (ch6).**

**Rating: T**

**.**

Emma chewed on her thumbnail with concern. Without Killian and the other Hufflepuffs, there were only five Gryffindor and Ravenclaw girls in the classroom—in _Trelawney's classroom_, at that. Why had Professor McGonagall scheduled the introduction to muggle literature class _here_ of all places?

The dark red curtains had been mercifully pulled back, allowing sunlight to filter into the dusky room. There was a fine dusting of snow in the window sill closest to Emma. The room was a little chilly this time of year; students had only just come back from Christmas break a few days before, and it seemed like the north tower had been frozen solid during their absence. It was such a strange contrast to the way the room was stiflingly hot when Trelawney used it.

The two Ravenclaw girls, Belle French and Ariel Sebastian, were chatting quietly at one of the little tables, while Ruby, Mary-Margaret, and Emma sat in their own little clump. Ruby and Mary-Margaret were talking in animated whispers, but Emma wasn't really listening. Her eyes were fixed on the trap door in the floor of the room.

Emma gave a visible sigh of relief when the Hufflepuffs arrived—five of them, as promised; Aurora and four boys. All conversation among the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw girls stopped as the boys entered.

Hufflepuff boys had that effect on most girls. Helga had good taste.

A messy head of brown hair popped up first. Emma recognized August Booth, from her own year. He caught Emma's eye and winked at her as he climbed into the room.

Killian Jones followed, his hair just as artfully tousled as August's—maybe it was a Hufflepuff thing. Killian looked positively wicked with his shirt collar popped up and his tie hanging loose. The buttons of his shirt above his vest were both undone. He gave Emma an amused little grin when he spotted her.

The Hufflepuff keeper climbed up next, devilishly handsome in his own way (and just as tousled as the two previous boys; this was definitely a trend). _Graham_, she remembered dimly. Graham surveyed the class in an appraising manner, his eyes lightly touching everything and everyone as he climbed into the room.

Graham was followed by Aurora Briars, the pretty third year, who looked around with the slightest frown as she waited near the trap door for her fellow chaser, Phillip Kingston, a fourth year. Phillip was just as handsome and messy-haired as the other three, though his hair was shorter. Aurora immediately tucked herself under Phillip's arm and dragged him as far away from the other girls as possible in the small, round room.

"How do Hufflepuff girls ever get any homework done?" Ruby murmured to Emma and Mary-Margaret during the procession. "_Yum_."

Mary-Margaret tittered at that. Ruby looked like she was going to say something more, but she stopped as Professor McGonagall climbed through the trap door. The Hufflepuffs quickly found seats. August spread out near the middle of the room, his feet kicked up on one of the low tables. Killian and Graham sat down somewhere behind Emma's group. She could feel his eyes on her. She looked over her shoulder to see the two sixth year boys lounging like ridiculously handsome cats. Killian caught Emma's eye and quirked a brow at her, his gaze slowly trailing over her back. His mouth moved, carefully forming words at her with no sound: "I'll watch your backside."

She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to face the professor.

"Welcome to 'Introduction to Muggle Literature'," trilled McGonagall. "This will largely be a student-driven course, since there is not yet a formal curriculum established for it. You will be researching and presenting your work through a series of story reviews. We will only meet formally once every two weeks, but I expect you to make time to meet with your partners to complete your projects between classes."

Partners?

"Partners?" Mary-Margaret said, speaking Emma's thought.

"Yes, Miss Blanchard," Professor McGonagall said. "I think that you'll find having someone to discuss your assigned readings with will be quite useful in interpreting themes."

"Will we be choosing our own partners?" Belle asked. "Or will they be assigned?"

"A little of both," McGonagall said. She surveyed the students in the room and then gave a little nod. "In the spirit of exploration that this class should embrace, students will not be allowed to partner with someone from their own house."

Aurora made an unhappy gasp.

Mary-Margaret was frowning.

"And," the professor went on, "since they are outnumbered, I think I will let the gentlemen choose with whom they wish to work."

Killian, Graham, and August grinned at one another. All of the boys in the class were Hufflepuffs, so they'd each be working with a girl. There was a moment of silent communication between them, and then August sat up straight.

"I'm going to claim the pretty brunette Ravenclaw," he said, grinning at Belle. "If you'll have me?"

"I'll take you," Belle replied gamely, giving him an appraising look.

Graham stood up and approached the table where the Gryffindor girls were gathered. He actually knelt down in front of Ruby and took her hand.

"Will you do me the honor of being my class partner?" he said, staring into her eyes with only the slightest hint of mirth.

The other boys snickered in the background.

Ruby bit her lip and nodded, grinning. Her cheeks might have pinked a little, but it was hard to tell in the divination classroom's strange lighting.

"Swan?" Killian said from behind Emma.

"Yeah?" Emma said, turning to look at him.

"Good, that's settled," he said with a little smirk.

Emma opened her mouth to protest, but she realized she was either stuck with him or one of the lovesick chasers who were still bickering in the corner. They didn't seem to realize it was Phillip's turn. Finally, the silence caught up to them.

Aurora looked at the class and frowned.

"Ariel," she said tentatively, "you could work with Phillip, right?"

Ariel smiled at Aurora. Emma knew the two girls were in the same year.

"I believe I said it was the gentlemen's choice, Miss Briars," McGonagall said.

"I choose Ariel," Phillip said dutifully.

"That leaves Miss Briars and Miss Blanchard to work together," the professor said.

Mary-Margaret smiled at the Hufflepuff girl, and Aurora gave her a tentative smile in return, but she clearly had assumed this class would be a way to spend more time with her boyfriend. Emma predicted that the class would be down to eight rather shortly.

McGonagall instructed everyone move to sit with their partners. Graham was already by Ruby, so Emma and Mary-Margaret got up to join their respective workmates.

Emma took the spot that Graham had vacated next to Killian, though she sat upright instead of reclining the way the Hufflepuff seeker did.

"Thanks for showing up," Emma said quietly to Killian once she was settled.

"Thank you for the invitation," he replied with a slight incline of his head.

Killian's eyes were lingering on her, and it made Emma a little self-conscious. She realized they're been looking at each other for longer than strictly necessary. Emma tried to switch her focus back to Professor McGonagall, but she found she'd already missed part of the lecture.

"…is the proper way to go about it," the professor declared, finishing some train that Emma hadn't heard, "so we'll begin with children's stories."

"Children's stories?" Emma echoed, disappointment clear in her voice.

"Yes, Miss Swan," McGonagall said. "You can't expect your classmates to understand the intricate themes and archetypes in muggle literature without having the basics, can you?"

Emma frowned.

"No, professor," she sighed.

"Well, then, let me assign you each your fairy tale to research," the older woman said. "I expect you to be experts on the tales when next we meet. You should find the different versions, the archetypes, the so-called 'moral of the story,' and modern adaptations."

Emma wondered how McGonagall expected them to do modern muggle research in a wizard castle.

The professor drew a short stack of envelopes from her sleeve and handed one to each pair.

"In the envelope, you will find your assigned story and a list of recommended books," McGonagall said. "Please take a few moments to meet with your partner and discuss your planned course of study. When you've come to a decision, you may leave. Our next meeting will be two weeks from today, in a classroom to be determined."

She looked around the room with pursed lips.

"We certainly won't be meeting in this room again if we can avoid it," she said.

With that, the older woman descended from the classroom, leaving the students to themselves.

Killian plucked the envelope out of Emma's fingers and tore it open, his eyes darting across the card he found inside.

"Jack and the Beanstalk?" Killian said, forming the words as if they were from another language. He looked at Emma over the card, raising an eyebrow. "Care to enlighten me, love?"

Emma frowned for a moment and then stole the card back from Killian. She looked at the name of the story, written in McGonagall's flowing handwriting. There was a short list of references below the title.

"There was a guy named Jack," Emma said, meeting Killian's eyes again, "and a cow, and something about an evil giant with a treasure and a golden goose… Or harp, I think."

"Sounds like a lovely tale," he said, dripping sarcasm.

"It wasn't one of my favorites," she said, shrugging. "Fairy tales were never really my thing."

"Then what is _your thing_, love?" he purred, his tongue caught between his teeth as he looked at her under half-lidded eyes.

"Let's focus on the assignment, Jones," Emma sighed, rolling her eyes.

"As you say, Swan," Killian said, sitting up a little straighter. "How do you suggest we begin this task?"

"Well, we could check the library," Emma said, looking at the list again, "but I'm guessing they don't keep a lot of muggle children's books lying around. Maybe Hogsmead?"

"Are you asking me out, Swan?"

"You wish," she retorted.

"Perhaps I do," he said earnestly, voice low.

Emma pretended she didn't hear what he'd said.

"Ruby's granny runs a muggle bed and breakfast," she said. "I'll ask Ruby if she'll send us some muggle books. Are any of your lot muggle-born or half-blood? They might have a leg up on the purebloods."

"Jefferson's pureblood, but he's done a fair bit of travel," Killian said, looking thoughtful. "He might be willing to help. I'll ask around the common room tonight."

"Good," Emma said, nodding. "then let's meet… uh, when are you free?"

Killian scoffed.

"Darling, I'm a sixth year," he said, "I have far more free time that do you. When are _you_ free?"

"Um, I have a free period on Wednesday mornings and Friday afternoons," she said, going over her schedule in her head.

"My Wednesdays are clear," he said, nodding.

"Okay," Emma said. "Wednesday, then?"

"It's a date," Killian said with a mischievous smile.


	8. Chapter 8

**Random OUAT/HP Drabble: Thestrals (from the prompt by perspicaciouslistener).**

**Chronologically, this would take place in between the two Christmas drabbles.**

**Rating: T**

**.**

If Emma was honest with herself, she was lost. She'd gone and properly wandered off and she'd never be heard from again.

One would think that someone as large as the castle would be impossible to lose track of, but Emma had managed it. Now, she was stumbling through the forest in the rapidly falling dark. Her unfamiliar robe kept snagging on branches and shrubs. She'd thought the robes were neat, at first, but now she thought they were absolutely ridiculous.

After eleven long years of dreaming of a way out, one had finally come to her in the form of an invitation to wizard school. But now Emma had messed it up, of course. They would kick her out, she was sure of it. This had all been a mistake, and they'd send her back to the orphanage or to that awful family that—_no_, no matter what happened, she wouldn't go back there. She'd run away, first.

_If _she ever got out of the forest.

Why had she separated from the rest of her class? She couldn't even remember, now. With a sigh, she continued tromping; well, really more like creeping. She tended to move quietly after…

Emma rubbed the spot on her left wrist where the little circular scar was still visible, frowning at the memory. She gave herself a little shake and resumed walking. Thinking about where she would go after they expelled her.

After a while, Emma thought she could hear a voice ahead. She slowed down and moved as quietly as she could.

"But that's over with, I suppose," said a male voice.

He sounded young, like a student, not a teacher. Emma crept forward, peeking around a tree to see.

It was dark, but she could make out the shape of him, standing in a clearing in his school uniform. His back was to Emma, but she could see a messy head of dark hair. He had his arm stretched out as though he were touching something, his hand sliding along some imagined or invisible surface in front of him. He picked up his hand and moved it back to where the motion had begun, stroking to the right as if petting some large animal.

"I miss you," he said softly, his voice a hoarse whisper. "So much."

Emma barely caught the words. She slunk forward to try to hear better.

"How am I supposed to do it, Liam?" he said, sounding sadder than anyone Emma had ever known. "How can I do it alone?"

The boy inhaled sharply, and then cleared his throat, his shoulder sagging.

Emma realized she was fully standing in the clearing, now, and she wasn't sure what to do. She heard a strange sound from the clearing, almost like a horse's whinny, and then the boy's back suddenly stiffened.

"Are you lost?" the boy said, louder than before, his voice not quite kind. He glanced over his shoulder and then did a double-take. He spun around to face Emma, his posture shifting quickly from defensive to open.

"Oh, hello," he said in a friendly tone, his eyebrows shooting up. She couldn't quite make out his features in the dark. His eyes and lips were just dark smudges against pale skin.

"Hello," Emma said, looking down and wringing her hands. She didn't know why she was suddenly nervous.

The boy was quiet for a moment, and then he took a step toward her. It seemed as though he was watching her, reading her. She felt like if she looked up, he'd know all her secrets.

"I was just heading back to the castle," he said gently, "would you like to go with me?"

Emma nodded, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away again. The boy took another step toward her, offering her his hand.

"Who were you talking to?" Emma blurted out. She immediately bit her lip, wishing she could unsay the words.

"Threstrals," he said, his eyebrows rising again. He looked behind him and gestured toward… nothing.

Emma shook her head.

"You can't see them," he said. He nodded. "That's good, that's good. I'm glad."

He turned back to Emma, who was tilting her head and looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"They're invisible," he said, and she thought he smiled, but it was too dark to tell.

"Then how come you can see them?" Emma asked, putting her hands on her hips.

The boy paused, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"My brother taught me," he said finally, quietly, looking away.

"Oh," Emma said. "Does he go here?"

"He did," the boy said, offering Emma his hand again. "But I'm much younger than he, so… He doesn't go here anymore."

Emma took the boy's hand in hers and let him lead her out of the clearing. They walked together in silence for several minutes. The forest grew darker and darker around them, but the boy's footsteps never hesitated. Emma wondered if he went into the woods at night a lot.

Eventually, they came out of the woods onto a grassy hill. The castle loomed before them, big and impressive, like something from a fairy tale.

"There we are," said the boy, turning his head to look at her. She thought his eyes might be blue. "Think you can manage from here?"

Emma looked at the castle for a moment, and then she looked at him again and nodded.

"Well, then," he said, shuffling his feet. He reluctantly let go of her hand. "Off you go, then. I've… I've left something behind. You go on."

Emma frowned at the boy for a moment. She didn't think he was being completely honest.

"Thank you," she said.

He bobbed his head and took a couple steps back. He gave her a little wave.

Emma waved back and then started walking toward the castle. When she looked back, he was still standing on the hill, watching her. She suddenly realized that she hadn't asked him his name. She took a step toward him, but he retreated to the tree line, disappearing into the forest.

Emma waved again, in case the boy was still watching, and then she turned around and marched toward the castle.


	9. Chapter 9

**Random OUAT/HP Drabble: Wednesday Morning (part 1)**

**Chronologically, this would happen after the first day of Introduction to Muggle Literature (ch7) and well before the Quidditch match (ch6).**

**Rating: T**

**.**

"Professor McGonagall told me yesterday," Mary-Margaret was saying to Ruby as Emma sat down to breakfast across from the two girls.

"Told you what?" Emma asked as she scooped eggs and bacon onto her plate.

"Aurora and Phillip dropped the muggle lit class," Ruby said.

"I'm not surprised," Emma said. "You know how new couples are. Any excuse to be together, right?"

"Absolutely," a disturbingly familiar lilting voice said, just behind Emma. Killian Jones stepped over the bench and sat down next to Emma, close enough for their robes to touch. "Aurora did truly wish to take the class, but she'd rather not partner with anyone other than her beau."

All of the nearby Gryffindor students were looking in open-mouthed shock at the Hufflepuff boy sitting at their table. He grinned at them as he lifted a slice of bacon from Emma's plate and took a bite from it.

"What… What are you doing?" Emma gritted between clenched teeth.

"Eating breakfast?" Killian said with big, innocent eyes.

"This is the Gryffindor table," Mary-Margaret said gently.

"Aye? That would explain all the crimson and gold," Killian replied, grinning at Mary-Margaret. "Did McGonagall pair you with the redhead, then?"

"Yes," Mary-Margaret replied. She looked out of her element. She clearly wanted to be polite, but the situation was making her uncomfortable.

David arrived then, dropping onto the bench next to Mary-Margaret and looping an arm around her. He kissed her temple and then turned to raise an eyebrow at Killian.

"This is a daring move, Jones, even for you," David said jovially.

"We can't all be compliant as _sheep_, Dave," Killian replied, grinning.

"Fly away, Jones," David said, smirking at some inside joke.

"I haven't even finished my bacon," Killian said.

"_My_ bacon," Emma grumbled.

Killian gave her an apologetic look.

"Too right, lass," he said, inclining his head. "I should have asked first. Forgive me?"

He turned the puppy eyes on Emma, and she found herself struck dumb but the cuteness of his expression. Her breath caught in her chest and she blinked at him repeatedly, her eyelids fluttering.

"Mr. Jones," Professor McGonagall said, coming to stand behind Mary-Margaret and making everyone jump. "Have you forgotten the way to your own table?"

"Not at all, Professor, it's right where I left it," Killian said, winking at Emma.

Emma coughed to cover her laugh.

"Then what are you doing _here_?" the professor queried.

Killian finally turned to look at McGonagall, and Emma took a much-needed breath.

"Meeting with my cohort regarding our project for your class, Professor," Killian replied.

"And this seemed like a good enough reason to break Hogwarts tradition?" McGonagall said.

"Not all traditions deserve upkeep, Professor," Killian replied with a careful balance of respect and defiance.

The older woman's eyes widened for a moment, and then she nodded.

"Be that as it may," she said, "you are causing quite the commotion, young man. I think it best if you return to your own house's table or leave the Great Hall."

"Of course, Professor," Killian said, dipping his head as he stood up and stepped over the bench. He turned to look down at Emma. "Meet me in the library?"

"Yeah, yeah," Emma said, her voice a little breathier than she liked.

He grinned at her again before sauntering off.

"Oo-oo-ooh," Ruby teased, drawing out the sound and grinning at Emma.

"Shut up," Emma said, throwing a slice of bacon at Ruby.


	10. Chapter 10

**Random OUAT/HP Drabble: Ruby's Dilemma (part 1)**

**Chronologically, this would take place... Uh, not sure... Haven't decided.. .**

**Rating: T**

**.**

"I told them both 'yes'!" Ruby exclaimed as she burst into the bedroom.

"Why would you do that?" Mary-Margaret admonished.

"What?" Emma said, confused, looking back and forth between her roommates.

"Victor and Graham both asked me to the ball," Ruby admitted, "and I said 'yes' to both of them."

"Why would you do that?" Emma echoed Mary-Margaret.

"I don't know!" Ruby shouted. "I couldn't decide!"

"What are you going to do?" Mary-Margaret asked.

"I don't know!" Ruby repeated, throwing herself on her bed. She yelled into her pillow for a moment before sitting back up.

"Well, you're going to have to choose," Emma said, giving Ruby a stern look. "Don't give either of them false hope, Ruby."

"I'm not," Ruby huffed. "I really do like both of them."

"Well, do you like one of them, you know, _more_?" Mary-Margaret asked.

"I think I might be falling in love with Victor," Ruby said, "but I feel this, like, primal kinship with Graham. It's hard to describe."

"Primal kinship?" Emma said skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, you know, like you and _Killian_," Ruby said, sing-song-ing the name.

"Me and—" Emma said, confused. Then her eyes widened. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! There's not any primal anything going on between me and Jones!"

"Well, there should be," Ruby muttered. "It's do you both some good."

"Ruby!" Mary-Margaret admonished.

"Oh, like you're one to talk," Ruby said. "You're already practically Mrs. David Nolan!"

"David is a gentleman, and what he and I share is—" Mary-Margaret started.

"Oh, my god, I _so_ don't want to hear this!" Emma interrupted, throwing her hands into the air. "Let's get back to Ruby's problem, okay?"

"Yeah," Ruby said. "What am I going to do?"

"You could tell them the truth," Mary-Margaret said.

"I'm sure that'll go over real well," Ruby muttered.

"You could pretend to be sick?" Emma offered.

"And not go to the ball?" Ruby said, aghast, "no way!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Random OUAT/HP Drabble: Patronuses**

**Rating: T**

**ATTENTION: I am officially moving these crossover drabbles to their own story called "Once Upon a Time-Turner"! This story will not include the HP drabbles after this one!**

**.**

As a third year, Killian had trouble summoning a patronus. When he was able to produce anything at all, it came in the form of an amorphous bird. Only the wings were clearly defined. The rest of the creature was hazy and ill-formed.

David Nolan's proud ram would canter around him, shaking its majestic horns, and Graham's sleek wolf would look upon him with wide, wise eyes as Killian focused, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he tried to bring his own ghost creature into focus.

Killian would recall his brother's majestic albatross, swooping through their shared room when he was a child. He had asked Liam to summon it again and again so he could marvel at its ethereal beauty.

But as a thirteen-year-old, Killian's eyes would prickle as he tried to force his broken spirit to coalesce into the echo of his brother's patronus. Killian _knew_ that his animus was a bird—definitely some sort of waterfowl—but why wouldn't it manifest clearly? Its wings were large, like an albatross, but its neck seemed so long, like a cormorant or a crane. When he thought of those birds, it still wouldn't take shape.

And then, in his fourth year, Killian happened to be outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom as the new crop of third years were learning how to summon their patronuses. He sighed in frustration as he saw some of them cast the spell effortlessly. A smiling girl with short black hair called forth a proud ewe that cantered around her blonde friend. The pretty brunette with long hair streaked with red summoned a sleek she-wolf that sat on its haunches and gazed at the blonde girl expectantly. The blonde, meanwhile, had her back to him, but her shoulders were hunched in concentration. An amorphous bird began to take shape in the air in front of her, and Killian's breath caught. The patronus spread its wide wings and stretched its long neck, coming slowly into focus as a graceful, powerful swan.

Killian felt as though a great weight had hit his chest. His heart stuttered as he watched the girl, willing her to turn around. In that moment, he needed more than anything to see her face.

She denied him, but the swan itself seemed to notice him, cocking its head to the side. Killian saw the girl's curtain of blonde hair flick sideways as she started to turn to see what the spirit was looking at. For a split second, Killian was frozen, his desire to flee and his desire to know who she was warring within him.

He cursed himself a coward as he threw himself to the side, out of the view of the classroom door and walked quickly away, each step seeming to burn his feet. He wound his way to a familiar, abandoned corridor and withdrew his wand.

"Expecto patronum," he whispered, feeling the difference as the spell coalesced in the form a cocky-looking cob that bristled its feathers at him as if annoyed that it had taken him so long to manage the spell properly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Don't You Forget About Me, Part 1**

**Priest!Killian Drabble: After New York, Storybrooke gets dark-cursed ****_again_****, and Emma has to find a way to fix it.**

**This chapter is rated T.**

**.**

"Sheriff Swan is here to see you, father," the nun said after rapping on the door frame.

The door was open, but Emma was standing behind the sister, unable to see into the office.

"Send her in," his voice replied warmly. The sound pulled at Emma's chest. "Would you bring us some tea, sister?"

"Of course, father," the nun said, dipping her head before turning to scurry off.

Emma took a deep breath before stepping forward to look into the office.

It was a small, neat room. The desk was plain, and the chair behind it was simple.

He'd been sitting, but he rose to meet her, stepping around the desk as she crossed into the room.

"Oh, my god," Emma gasped as she took him in from top to bottom.

"Father Jones will suffice, lass," he said with a wink. He extended his right hand to her and gave her a winning smile. "You must be Sheriff Swan. Pleased to meet you."

Emma tried to pick her jaw up off the floor.

He was dressed all in black (which wasn't surprising), but the little white square at his throat was disconcerting. Even though she'd already known that in the latest version of the curse, Killian Jones was a priest, seeing it with her own eyes was something else entirely.

Even without the guy-liner, his blue eyes were strikingly beautiful, bright and animated. His scruff was gone, revealing a smooth expanse of sharp jaw-line. His whole countenance seemed different. The centuries of pain were gone, replaced by some sort of pious calm.

So different, and yet clearly the same.

Emma licked her lips. She had come to him as a last resort, really. She'd tried convincing Mary-Margaret and David to no avail, Regina was one-hundred-percent back in bitch-mayor mode, and Henry wasn't in Storybrooke. The boy had been vacationing with Neal when the damn trap had been sprung.

So, with all the family options taken from her, Emma was left with a pirate.

Emma knew that Hook loved her. She'd known it since Neverland. And deep down, she'd reluctantly admitted to herself that she loved him, too.

But she also knew that True Love's Kiss wouldn't work on someone with amnesia.

The man standing in front of Emma wasn't _Hook_. He was a stranger, someone different and unknown-a _priest_ for crying out loud. But she'd seen the way Mary-Margaret and David had been pulled toward each other despite the curse. Emma had to hope that the same would be true for her and Hook-Father Jones, whatever. She had to believe that _True Love_ would win out over evil and she'd restore he happy endings... Again.

So, all she had to do was seduce the priest.


	13. Chapter 13

**Don't You Forget About Me, Part 2**

**Priest!Killian Drabble, continued.**

**This chapter is rated T (I want this to go up, but my muse is taking things slow).**

**.**

"Lass? Are you feeling ill?"

Emma realized she'd been staring at the blue-eyed priest, her mind playing cruel and naughty tricks on her. She shook her head and took his hand, surprised to find it soft, smooth, and unadorned by jewelry. When he wrapped his left hand around their entwined rights, she jumped and made a shocked little squawk.

"Miss Swan?" he said, concern coloring his features.

Emma decided to play the blonde card, as she had on too many marks during her bail bondsperson days.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said, giving him a demure grin, "I've screwed this up. I just wasn't expecting a priest to be so…"

She eyed him up and down, biting her lip and trying to look flustered (which really wasn't difficult).

"Can we just start over?" she said, looking up at him through her lashes. "I'm Emma."

He gave her an indulgent smile.

"Killian Jones," he said warmly. "And I'm very pleased to meet you, Emma."

He patted her hand and then released her. He walked back around his desk and gestured for her to sit on the chair opposite. He didn't take his seat until after she sank into the chair.

"How can I assist you, love?" he said.

"Well, it's complicated," she said, hesitating as she shifted back into sheriff mode.

"I've been told I'm clever, if that is any help," he teased.

She grinned at that.

"Okay," she said, taking a breath. "This is going to sound a little crazy."

She paused to look at him, and he was watching her with expectation.

She bit her lip again before speaking.

"Do you ever dream of another life?" she asked.

He burst out laughing.

Emma had never seen him laugh like that, carefree and open. It was beautiful.

"Miss Swan—"

"Emma," she corrected.

"Emma," he said, "are you trying to ask if I ever regret becoming a priest?"

"No," she sighed. "I told you this was going to sound crazy."

Killian tilted his head to the side and studied her. Before he spoke again, the nun returned with a tray of tea and cookies. She set the tray down on the desk.

"Thank you, sister," Killian said.

They both waited for the nun to leave before speaking again. Killian carefully poured two cups of tea and offered one to Emma. She took it, brushing his fingers with hers and watching to see if he reacted to the touch.

She didn't know if it was wishful thinking, but she thought that his eyes widened slightly when her fingers grazed over his skin.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Emma busied herself adding sugar to her tea, trying to figure out how to do what she needed to do without scaring off the priest.

"You didn't answer my question," she said finally, watching him through her lashes as she pretended to study her tea cup.

"Everyone dreams of different lives, lass," he said, taking a sip of his tea.

He was still hedging, but Emma was sure he was dreaming about his old life. She'd dreamed of her old life while she'd been in New York. The dreams hadn't made sense at the time, all jumbled and confusing, but she'd had them, and she would bet hard cash that Killian was having them too.

He would have so much more life to dream of.

"What do you know about memory loss?" Emma asked.

"Amnesia?" the priest said, eyebrows rising. "Not much, I'm afraid."

"What if I told you your dreams were memories?" she said quietly.

"I'd say that sounds mad," he replied after just a moment's hesitation.

She nodded.

He looked away, his brow crinkling. Emma decided she didn't want to push him too fast.

"Just… Just think about it, okay?" she said, searching his face. "Come find me if you want to learn more."

He met her eyes and stared at her.

Emma's chest grew tight as she watched the weight settle behind his eyes. She hadn't wanted to burden him. She didn't want to force Hook's past on this light, happy person, but she needed him back. She needed all of them back. And she knew from experience that fake memories, no matter how pleasant, weren't good enough.

She just hoped he'd agree with her when it was done.

**.**

**Reviews really inspire me! Please let me know if I should continue this!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Priest!Killian, Part 3 (still rated T)**

**Part 4 is written, and it is NOT rated T, so I think I'm gonna spin this out to its own fic. I just need to figure out a name...**

**Suggestions?**

**I'm partial to story names that start with a numerical word and stories named after songs.**

**Thanks for the reviews! And, no, I haven't seen The Rite yet! Just lots of gifsets on Tumblr!**

**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! *wink***

**.**

Two days later, Father Jones came to the sheriff's station.

Emma was glad to see him. She'd wanted to give him some space, but she was also desperate to break the curse. She'd planned on giving him three days.

He was wearing creased black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a dark gray vest. He wore the clothes well. Emma had to admit it was nice to see him in something other than leather or a cassock, but as the same time, a part of her longed for him to be restored to his pirate glory.

"Good morning," she said, standing up.

He lingered in the doorway, his expression wary.

"Good morning," he replied quietly, his eyes roving over the room.

"Here to report a crime?" Emma said conversationally.

"Ah, no," he said, his eyes meeting hers for a second before darting away. "I'm here about… the other thing."

Emma felt a surge of relief wash through her.

"Oh, good. Great," she babbled, trying to modulate her excitement. "Please come in."

She walked around the desk and approached him. He was watching her warily, so she refrained from touching him. She gestured to the chair opposite her desk and then walked to the counter where the coffee pot was percolating.

"I don't have any tea," Emma said. "Coffee?"

"Yes, thank you," he said.

She heard his quiet steps across the room and the scrape of the chair. She poured two cups of coffee.

"How do you take it?" she asked without looking, spooning sugar into her cup.

"Black," he said, his voice coming from right behind her.

She jumped, and his hands were suddenly on her shoulders.

She spun around, leaving the cups behind, and found herself staring into his curious, hungry blue eyes. His hands were still on her shoulders.

"How did you know that I dream of you?" he murmured, his voice raw and needy. "I've told no one."

Emma's pulse sped up. She tried to find something to say, but her throat seemed constricted.

"Do you dream of me, too?" he mused in a whisper, his gaze dragging over her face, lingering on her mouth.

He licked his lips, his eyelids dipping as he leaned in closer.

"Hook," she managed to whisper, her voice breaking.

The name seemed to break the spell. Killian's brow furrowed, and he took a step back.

"Wh—what?" he said, confused.

He let go of Emma and then skipped back another three steps, as if being near her was unpleasant. He made the sign of the cross over his chest.

There was no recognition in his eyes.

Emma turned around quickly, closing her eyes and taking a few cleansing breaths through her nose. She picked up their coffees before pivoting to face him again. She held out one of the cups to him.

He took it easily, but made sure not to touch her as he grasped the cup. He was still studying her with critical, apprehensive eyes.

Emma walked past him to her desk, sipping her coffee as she went. She sat down, closing her eyes again for another second. This situation was impossible. Hook, the priest. Hook, the ridiculously hot man of God. Emma was going to end up in hell, she knew it.

When she opened her eyes, he was sitting across from her, and his expression had opened up a little bit. His cup of coffee was cradled between his two hands in his lap. Her eyes lingered on his fingers, all ten of them. What would happen to his hand when the curse broke?

_If the curse breaks_, said an unpleasant little voice in the back of her mind. Emma shoved the thought away.

"To say that you have my full attention would be an understatement, Miss Swan," Killian said quietly. "Please, explain to me what it is you know that I do not."

"You're not a priest," Emma blurted out.

He cocked an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth quirked up.

"I have paperwork that claims otherwise, love," he said.

"I'm sure you do," she said, "but you probably don't remember getting that paperwork."

Killian opened him mouth to make a retort, but his face crumpled and he pressed his lips together.

"How long have you been a priest?" she asked.

"As long as I can remember," he said warily.

"Where did you go to seminary?" she asked.

"I…"

He frowned, looking down.

"How old were you when your brother died?"

"Seventeen."

His head snapped up, eyes wide.

"I haven't got a brother," he said. He crossed himself again and eyed her warily. "Why would I say that?"

"Because you _did_ have a brother," Emma said gently. "You just can't remember."

He chewed on that for a long minute, his lips pursed as his eyes bored into hers.

"And the dreams?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Memories," she said, holding his gaze.

She watched the thoughts and emotions flicker behind his eyes. Disbelief, confusion, hope, doubt, pain, apprehension, desire.

"All of my dreams?" he whispered huskily. His eyes left hers and traveled down her body before returning to her face. His gaze lingered on her mouth again before rising to her eyes.

Emma felt her skin warm at the look he gave her.

"Well, I don't know exactly what you've been dreaming," she said, "but if they're anything like mine, then they're more real than not."

"You have these dreams, too?" he asked again. He licked his lips.

"I did," she said. "I've been under the sp—the effect you're under before. Memories and dreams get fuzzy and you can't remember a lot of details about your life."

"So, I've been drugged?" he asked. "Hypnotized?"

"In a way, yes," she said, glad for an explanation that didn't involve magic.

"Why me?" he asked, brow quizzical.

"It's not just you," she said. "It's the whole town. Everyone's been… reprogrammed."

"But not you?" he asked, eyes narrowing a little.

"Not me," she confirmed.

"Why not?"

"I'm… well, it, uh, doesn't work on me. Anymore."

He took another minute to process what she'd said. She let him have the time he needed, staying quiet and sipping her coffee.

"Why are you telling me?" he eventually asked. "Why not someone else?"

"Because you're…" Emma started. She chewed on her lip for a moment. "Because you're the one who helped me when I was under the effect."

He frowned, thinking about that for a moment. He took a drink of his coffee.

"What is 'Hook'?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. "Why did you say that when I… Why did you say that before?"

Emma licked her lips, trying to determine how to answer.

"It's… It's something from your past—your _real_ past," she said. "It's something you need to remember."

"I need to remember a hook?" he asked incredulously. "Like to a song? Blues Traveler?"

Emma couldn't help but grin. It was too bizarre to see knowledge of her world come out of his mouth, even if she knew it wasn't really _him_ speaking.

"Not exactly," she said with smirk.

"Then what is it?" he pressed, brow furrowed.

She bit her lip.

"Not yet," she said, shaking her head. "You're not ready for that, yet."

He frowned again.

"I think… I think we need to take things slow," she said. "When you helped me, you had a… uh, an antidote for me to take, but I don't have one for you. So, I think we need to work slowly."

_I need to make you fall in love with me_, she thought wistfully.

"Why can't we simply procure another dose of the antidote?" he asked.

"Because I don't know how to make it," she said, "and everyone else in town is under the effect."

"Then we should go fetch it from Boston," he said.

She bit her lip again, knowing that her next words would be difficult for him to hear.

"No one can leave town," she said, watching carefully for his reaction.

His eyes narrowed again, and he cocked his head.

"How convenient," he said sarcastically.

"It's really not," she huffed.

"Perhaps you should speak to Dr. Hopper about these thoughts you've been having, lass," he said.

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not crazy," she said. "I knew about your dreams, remember?"

He pursed his lips and sat quietly again, using his coffee as a shield.

"Then prove to me that we cannot leave town, sheriff," he said. "Surely you should be able to give me some evidence of what you're asking me to believe."

Emma snorted at that.

"Oh, that's priceless coming from a _priest_," she said, fighting a chuckle.

He looked shocked for a second, and then he laughed. She loved the sound. When he was Hook again, she'd have to find ways to make him laugh more often.

"Seriously, Emma, you're asking me to take a lot on faith," he said. "I may be a man of the cloth, but that doesn't mean I fall for everything I'm told. You have to be able to give me something."

He looked at her expectantly, and she knew he was teetering on the edge of writing her off and giving her a chance. She had to do something, but what?

Emma's eye darted around the room as she thought. She looked at the cells and thought about locking him up. She dismissed the idea immediately. Her eyes landed on her keys, and she considered taking him out to the town line. In previous versions of the curse, bad things had always happened when people tried to leave. She couldn't risk it.

Then she saw the shoelace tied around her wrist.

Emma's pulse sped up.

_Graham._

Graham's memories had awakened after he'd kissed her. The kiss hadn't broken the curse, but it had done something to him—opened something in him, and he'd started to remember.

Maybe it would work that way with Hook.

Emma's heart was pounding in her chest as she slowly rose from her seat. Her breath came in heavy pants as she dragged herself around the desk toward him. She saw the edge of heat come in his eyes. He knew. He knew what she was going to do.

She was grateful that he wasn't in his cassock.

He stared up at her almost defiantly as she stepped close to his chair. She saw his jaw move as he swallowed. Reaching down, she slowly, deliberately took two fistfuls of his vest and hauled him to his feet. He came willingly, offering no resistance.

She searched his eyes, just inches from hers.

His gaze was hooded, hungry, but also wary. He looked conflicted, and she couldn't blame him. She was conflicted, herself.

He didn't stop her, but he didn't take action, either. He was passive, waiting.

His gaze flicked to her mouth, and his lips parted as his breathing accelerated. She saw his tongue flick out unconsciously to wet his lips.

That sent her over the edge, and she roughly yanking him down to her, crashing her mouth to his. He went completely rigid, surprised, but then he melted against her, kissing her back as she clung to him in desperation.

She felt his right hand rise to gently touch her hair, just as he'd done in Neverland, and his left hand landed on her hip.

He made the most delicious sound, a cross between a groan and a sigh, and then the kiss changed. There wasn't a burst of magic, but she felt it—she felt _him_—for just a moment. Hook, her Hook, growled into her mouth, gripping her roughly, nipping her bottom lip before deepening the kiss possessively.

She moaned gratefully, but the moment was over too soon.

Father Jones was back in a heartbeat, and he tore himself away from her, stumbling backwards and nearly falling over his chair. He put the piece of wooden furniture between them as if it could protect him from her. He crossed himself again, his eyes wide. He was mumbling something under his breath, and she thought it might be in Latin.

His hand, shaking, rose to his kiss-darkened lips.

He stared at her, and she could clearly see the fear in his eyes.

"That was—" he started, swallowing hard.

Emma chuffed, a small smile touching her lips at his words.

He frowned at her expression, gripping the back of the chair between them so hard, his knuckles went white.

She just watched him, waiting. Giving him time and hoping.

"Good day, Sheriff Swan," he finally whispered, his voice broken. He looked away from her, frowning at the chair, the floor, her desk. He shuffled past her, seeming unsteady of his feet. He gave her a wide berth, and she let him go.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, listening to him as he made his way to the door.

"Good bye, Killian," she said softly, not sure if she wanted him to hear, and not sure if he did.

When she opened her eyes, he was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: The Priest!Killian story has moved to its own story: "Bedroom Hymns"**

**Please check it out if you want to read the rest of it (including the rated M parts)!**

**.**

**For today, I present to you:**

**CS Drabbles, Hiatus Musings: "Killian Misses Emma," A Sonnet in Iambic Pentameter**

**(yes, I am a giant nerd)**

**.**

My Swan, thy face is with me ev'ry day:  
When I arise and when I fall asleep.  
Without thee, mine horizons have turned gray.  
Far brighter are the memories I keep.

Thine eyes, they live behind mine when I blink,  
More green than oceans deep or meadows fair.  
Thy kiss doth tempt me when I chance to wink;  
But when I reach for thee, I grasp cold air.

I never thought I'd let go of my love—  
My Milah whom I never shall forget.  
But swear do I by all the stars above  
That I have lost mine heart into thy net.

No day goes by without a thought of thee;  
Until we reunite, please happy be.


	16. 16 - CS Valentine 2014

**Tumblr CS Valentine's Day Present for fangirlofeverythingintheworld**

**"Of Pirates and Timelords" **

**Rated T**

**Set in New York.**

**.**

Killian watched Henry with an appraising expression.

Emma had left the lad in his care while she went to speak to an old friend in preparation for their leaving New York. The trust she was showing him was monumental, and he was grateful, but he wasn't entirely sure how to interact with this Henry. This lad was so different from the Henry he'd heard about over the past year from his extended family. This Henry hadn't grown up in Storybrooke with a book of tales from the enchanted forest.

This Henry had grown up in the land without magic.

Killian had briefly panicked when he realized how alien he would seem to the boy. He'd grabbed Emma's arm just before she went through the door, asking her to wait. She'd looked at him with those wide, green eyes, her breath catching at his nearness, and she had whispered that he'd make her late.

"What do I say to him, Swan?" he half-pleaded, letting his desperation show. "He doesn't know me."

"Just ask him about his favorite TV show," she said with a mirthful smirk, "then he'll talk all night."

Killian nodded, still not releasing her. David had told him a little about this world's entertainment, so he understood the term "tee-vee," but the pirate still wasn't convinced he'd be able to hold a conversation about such things with a precocious lad.

"I've gotta go," Emma said patiently, looking pointedly at his hand on her bicep.

Killian reluctantly released her arm and stepping back.

"Be safe," he said to her, meeting her eyes, willing her to understand the depth of his discomfort at letting her out of his sight again.

"It's fine," she said, smiling a little, "I'll be back in an hour or two. I promise."

Killian nodded. Emma smiled.

And then she was gone.

With a little sigh, Killian squared his shoulders and went back into the sitting room where Henry was sprawled out on a sofa.

The young man had some sort of magical (_non-magical,_ he reminded himself) box in his hands. It was a shiny little thing, possessing a tiny picture screen. Henry touched the little box often and the picture changed, causing strange sounds to emanate from the device.

Henry didn't seem concerned with Killian in the least. When Emma had introduced them and told Henry she'd be back later, Henry had just eyed Killian up and down and shrugged. Emma had vaguely explained that Killian was an old friend (which made Killian smile to himself) and that he was from someplace far away, but Henry hadn't seemed overly interested. He'd let him mom kiss him goodbye and gone back to staring at his little screen.

Killian sank into a chair opposite Henry. After several minutes, he grew tired of watching the boy stare into the glowing device he clutched before him.

"Well, lad," Killian said, "It seems we have some time to fill. What say you and I have a conversation?"

"About what?" Henry asked in a bored tone, his eyes flicking up briefly before returning to the screen.

"Your mother mentioned you have a fondness for a particular show," Killian said. "Perhaps you could tell me about that?"

The glowing screen lowered fractionally, and Henry met Killian's gaze for a moment. The boy looked mildly surprised.

"You really want to know?" the lad asked, cautiously hopeful.

"Seems a better occupation than sitting in silence," Killian said, offering a friendly grin.

The little screen went dim in Henry's hands as the boy cocked his head to the side and chewed on his bottom lip.

"You have a willing, captive audience," Killian said. "Please, enlighten me. What is the show about?"

Killian folded his right hand over his stiff, gloved left and looked at the boy expectantly.

Henry's face brightened by degrees, first one corner of his mouth curled up, then the other. His eyes squinted happily as he realized Killian was serious. Henry's whole face lit up as a child's countenance often does when he is asked about his favorite things.

"So," Henry said in an excited tone, the device in his lap suddenly forgotten as he launched into the tale, "there's this guy from another world, and he's got these, like, really blue eyes, and he wears this leather jacket. It's like his trademark or something."

Killian grinned at the boy's unbridled enthusiasm.

"And he's a lot older than he looks, you know?" Henry went on, "He's been alive for, like, _centuries_, but you can't tell by looking at him."

_Wait, what?_

Killian's smile froze on his face.

"So, he's got this ship—he stole it from _his own_ people; he just ran away in it, isn't that weird?" Henry continued. "And the ship is, like, well, it's not magic, really, but it's kinda magic? It can go places that a regular ship can't go and stuff."

Killian felt a tightness in his chest as the boy spoke.

Emma had once told him that he was a character in a story in her world, but could he really be in Henry's_ favorite_ story? And how could the storytellers know so much about his life?

"So, the guy, he meets this blonde girl from our world," Henry said, beaming, "and they have this adventure together, and the guy realizes that maybe she's special, so he invites her on his ship. And they go on adventures, and they, like, flirt a lot, but nothing happens—you know, _happens_-happens—but then they go on this one mission where they have to save the world, and they both change, but in different ways."

Killian felt his mouth fall open, so he forced it closed, trying to keep his composure.

"So, the guy changes," Henry said, "and the girl is kinda suspicious at first, because he's all different from how he was, but they still go on adventures, and they flirt more. And the guy meets the girl's parents—well, he'd already met her mom, but, anyway—her mom doesn't like him at first, but his dad kinda does, and he helps the mom and the dad get back together, because they were stuck in different worlds from each other. And the girl's old boyfriend comes back for awhile, but then he goes to another world and they never think they're gonna see him again, but they do later, and everyone is really surprised—Oh! And the boyfriend's name was different in the other world. Isn't that weird?"

"Mm," Killian said noncommittally.

Killian was having trouble keeping his face neutral as he listened to the tale. The boy _couldn't _still be talking about him—He couldn't be talking about him at all, that was ridiculous. There must be some other explanation. How could their tale be a story in this world?

Could it be part of the memories that Regina had given the boy? Could she have slipped their tale into his mind as a work of fiction, a way to stay connected to the lad?

But why would the queen have given Henry _his_ story?

Killian focused on listening to the boy instead of worrying about the reasons.

"But then this big bad thing happens in the girl's world," Henry said, his brow crinkling as he recalls the details, "and the guy realizes that they're gonna have to, like, seal the worlds away from each other so he'll never see the girl again, but she doesn't want to go. In the end, she and the guy get trapped in different worlds, and the girl's really sad, and she's crying when they finally say goodbye, but they can't touch each other, which is really kinda sad, you know?"

Killian swallowed the lump in his throat, leaning forward, his attention focused entirely on Henry as the boy looked at him to make sure he was still listening.

"That is sad," Killian whispered, his voice cracking a little as he remembered bidding Henry's mother farewell: Emma's vainly-fought tears, his attempt to draw a smile, their veiled declarations. "It is quite sad."

"I know, right?" Henry said enthusiastically, clearly thrilled that he still had Killian's attention but unaware of Killian's distress, "so the girl was stuck in the other world, and she and the guy were kept away from each other _forever_. Well, it seemed like forever, but maybe it wasn't that long. I think it was a different amount of time for each of them, though."

"But they were reunited?" Killian asked, enrapt.

"Yeah!" Henry said, his eyes lighting up at Killian's interest. "The girl needed the guy again, because there was this big danger. She sent him a message, all the way across the worlds, like a dream; something only he would understand. So, he went looking for her, all the way across the worlds, and he found her. He figured out how to find her and he went to get her."

Killian smiled, his lips pressed together, his brow creased. He'd had so many dreams about Emma, about what she'd said to him. She'd told him that it was _good_ that he would think of her. In his dreams, it meant she wanted him to find her. But how could that be in a story in this world? Regina couldn't have known it. He'd never spoken it aloud.

"And is that where the story ends?" Killian asked, his voice raw and wistful.

"No, not even," Henry said. "There's_ lots_ more!"

"R-really?" Killian stammered, blinking, trying to keep the shock from his face.

"Yeah," Henry said. "Several seasons, and the show's still going, too."

"Is that so?" Killian said, eyebrows rising. "Then what happened after the man found his blonde companion in the other world?"

Henry grinned, happy to have an interested audience.

"Okay, so, when he found her, when they saw each other again, they were both so excited, and they ran toward each other and I think they were probably going to kiss and stuff, but then an alien showed up and it shot the guy—blam!—and he was dying!"

Killian leaned back, his mouth popping open again.

This was not a turn he had expected.

"But he was able to use his regeneration power to not die," Henry went on, "and it actually ended up making a, like, copy of the guy, so there were two of him."

"Two of the blue-eyed man in the leather coat?" Killian asked, bewildered.

"Well, no, he'd changed, I said. He didn't wear the leather jacket anymore after he changed, and he didn't have blue eyes anymore; they were brown. But, anyway, there were two of the guys then, and they helped the girl and everyone to save the world again."

Killian felt more than a little sheepish at his vain assumptions. Had it been coincidence? Wish fulfillment? This story wasn't his, and he felt daft for being egotistical enough to think it was. He shook his head at his own foolishness.

"What happened then?" Killian asked, eager to keep the boy talking and curious about the tale.

"Okay, so, they had to seal the worlds apart again, so they went back to the place that they said goodbye before, and the girl asked the two versions of the guy if they loved her. Well, the first one—the original one—kinda wouldn't answer her, but the second one did, so she kissed him and he stayed with her in her world while the other one left in his magic ship."

"He just left her there?" Killian asked, aghast.

"Well, yeah," Henry said. "She had the copy version of the guy and her family and everything, so he left her there so she could have a happy life."

"And did she?" Killian asked softly.

"Well, I guess?" Henry said, his face crinkling a little as he shrugged. "They don't ever show her again—well, only one time, but it's not really the same cuz it's in the past—No, wait, twice, but that one shouldn't even count, and it didn't really make sense, and it's not really her... But, anyway, the show is about the _guy_, so they follow him as he keeps going on adventures."

"He just keeps going, alone?" Killian said, frowning.

"For a while, yeah," Henry said. "But then he has to change again, and he becomes funnier instead of sad—which is way better, you know?—and he meets new friends to travel with, like, this guy that waits _a thousand years_ to protect his wife. How cool is that? And this really cool lady that's kind of crazy—she was actually trained to kill the guy, but then she fell in love with him. They get married."

Killian sat in quiet contemplation for a moment, his brow furrowed. Henry watched him expectantly, hoping he'd ask more questions. The boy seemed worried that he'd overwhelmed the strange man.

"What is it about the story that draws your fascination, lad?" Killian asked.

"Well, the show's exciting, with monsters and adventures and stuff," Henry said, "but the guy—the main character guy—he's like, he's _good_, you know? I mean, he's done these really horrible things in his past. He's killed people and left people behind. He betrayed his whole _world_ and ran away. He's alone, really. He doesn't have anyone from his old home. They're all gone, dead for centuries. But even with all that, he still _tries_ to be a good man. He makes mistakes, and he does stuff wrong sometimes, and he has a really bad temper, but he just keeps trying. It's like… It's about _hope_, you know? Even after years and years of mistakes, he can still be the hero. That's just… I like that. It's cool, you know?"

Killian's chest felt tight again as he looked at Henry. The boy had the heart of the truest believer, and his favorite story was about a centuries-old pirate that wanted to be a hero.

"You don't think it's too late?" Killian asked, searching the boy's face. "You don't think hundreds of years of villainy would render one unredeemable?"

"Well, it wasn't villainy, really," Henry said, cocking his head to the side. "I mean, he did do some really bad stuff. He killed, like, entire races of people, but he always thought he had good reasons. I mean, sometimes he was just selfish or did stuff for revenge, but most of the time—it was like he had a, uh, like, a code, you know?"

"Aye, lad," Killian said with a dark little chuckle, "I'm familiar with the concept."

Killian ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head and looking wistfully out the window into the strange, beautiful world without magic.

"So what do you think?" Henry said after a moment, sounding tentative. "Will you maybe watch it with me sometime?"

Henry looked up at Killian with, big, wide eyes full of hope and wonder.

"Aye, lad," Killian replied, "that I will."

Henry's answering smile warmed Killian's heart.

**.**

**I'm really nervous about this one... **

**What do y'all think? Is it okay? **

**I've never written Killian/Henry before!**

**(in case you don't know what show Henry is talking about, It's Doctor Who. Jared Gilmore-the actor who plays Henry-is actually a HUGE Doctor Who fan)**


	17. Hitch AU

**CS/Hitch AU Drabble (inspired by a set of AU fic prompts)**

**This is completely unedited, lemme know if you see ugly typos?**

**.**

Sitting at the bar after a long day, Killian noticed a beautiful blonde woman sitting by herself in a seating area meant for mingling.

"She's some kind of P.I.," the bartender said to Killian, nodding to the blonde. "Comes in here once in a while. Great tipper."

"What's her drink?" Killian asked, fiddling with the napkin under his beer.

The barkeep grinned.

"Usually beer," he said. "Tonight, Grey Goose martini, dirty."

Nodding, Killian ordered two of her drink and started to make his way to the blonde, but he was cut off by a scruffy looking brown-eyed man with a wide grin.

Killian dodged behind a nearby pillar and decided to listen in.

"Hi," the interloper said, oblivious to the blonde's obvious disinterest. "I noticed your glass was getting low… so I took the liberty of bringing you another apple martini."

"Thank you," she said with a tight little smile, immediately looking away.

"And I couldn't help but notice," the intruder continued, "you look a lot like my next girlfriend."

He grinned at her like god's gift, and Killian couldn't help but wince at his lack of game.

"What's your name?" the blonde said, setting down her drink.

" They call me Chip," he replied, popping the P.

"You can't get them to stop?" the blonde said with a patronizing smile.

Chip laughed.

"That was funny," he said, but the blonde was already talking over him.

"Listen, I understand the courage it takes to walk across a room and try to generate a relationship out of thin air," the blonde said, "So don't take the following personally—"

"You have fantastic eyes," Chip said, interrupting her.

Killian shook his head in disbelief.

"Thanks. Try to listen," the pretty blonde said, her smile frozen in place, "This is no reflection on you. I'm just not interested. But thank you for the compliment of coming over."

Killian grinned at her diplomacy.

"You're welcome," Chip said.

Killian got up to take him place, but the daft git didn't get the message.

"So do you like Cuban food?" he asked.

Killian sat back down, irritated.

"Chip, seriously, that was not code for, 'I wish you'd try harder'," the blonde said, her own irritation starting to show in her tone.

"Are you always so shut-down and afraid that the right man might make you—"

"Feel like a natural woman?" Killian finished for Chip, dropping his hand heavily onto Chip's shoulder and giving him a snide grin.

Killian turned his eyes to the beautiful blonde, giving her an apologetic smile.

"Sorry I'm late, darling," he said directly to her. "I couldn't get a cab. How was the meeting?"

"Oh," the blonde said, looking up at him with a half-amused smile and taking the offered out. "Well, there was a beginning, a middle, and an end."

She turned her eyes back to Chip.

"Nice to meet you, Chip."

"You, too," he said in defeat, turning to size up Killian before slinking off into the dark of the bar.

Killian watched the blonde, who was trying to fight a smirk as she watched Chip leave.

"On the one hand," Killian said conversationally, it is very difficult for a man to even speak to someone who looks like you. But on the other hand, should that be your problem?"

"So life's kind of hard all around," she said, her face tight.

"Well, not if you pay attention," Killian lilted, removing the apple-tini Chip had left behind and sitting down across from the blonde. "I mean, you're sending all the right signals, love: no earrings, heels under two inches, your hair is pulled back, wearing reading glasses with no book, drinking a Grey Goose martini—which means you had a hell of a week and a beer just wouldn't do it. And if that wasn't clear enough, there's always the 'bugger off' that you have stamped on your forehead."

She laughed at that, which was encouraging.

"Because who would believe there is a man out there that can sit by a woman he doesn't know and genuinely be interested in who she is, what she does, without his own agenda?" he continued.

"I wouldn't even know what that would look like," she said, playing along. "So what would a guy like that say?"

Killian grinned. She was clearly still guarded, but she was speaking to him, and that was a good sign. She'd even leaned forward, a sign of attraction. Killian mirrored her, leaning toward her.

"He would say, 'My name is Killian Jones and I'm a dashing rapscallion,' but she wouldn't be interested in that, because she'd be counting the seconds until he left."

"Thinking he was like every other guy," she said, nodding in confirmation.

"Which, life experience has taught her, is a virtual certainty," he said. "But then he'd ask her name and what she did for a living… And she might tell him to bugger off. Or she might say…"

He watched her, keeping his gaze on her eyes.

She chewed her lip for a moment as she decided. She was like an open book—he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes.

"I'm Emma Swan," she said finally. "I work for Ragged Angel Investigations."

She didn't give him a chance to reply, clapping her hands together as she leaned forward more to snark at him.

"And then he'd ask all these penetrating questions about her, because he was sincerely—if atypically—interested," she said sarcastically.

"No," he said, shaking his head as if her idea was ridiculous.

"No?" she parroted in surprise, brow crinkling.

"He'd be interested," Killian purred, "but he'd see that there was no way he could possibly make her realize that he was genuine."

"Well, he could be funny and charming and refreshingly original," she said, picking up her drink.

"Wouldn't help," Killian said.

"Don't you hate it when that happens?" Emma said.

"Not really," Killian said, already making plans for how he'd contact her next. "They'd both probably go on to lead the lives they were headed toward. My guess is they'd do just fine."

Her surprised/amused little smile was lovely.

"It's a pleasure to have met you, Emma Swan," he said, nodding to her before rising and striding off without a backward glance.

Emma blinked after him, shocked.

"Grey Goose martini from the gentleman who just left," a waitress said, swooping in and setting down a drink in front of Emma.

Emma scrambled up out of her seat, but Mary-Margaret arrived just then.

"Is that for me?" Mary-Margaret said, scooping up the drink the waitress had just set down.

Emma sat back down, grinning at her friend.

"What?" Mary-Margaret said, taking a sip from the martini.

Emma just laughed, her thoughts on a 'dashing rapscallion.'

**.**

**Review?**


	18. NYCS - Stay the Night

**My version of one of the missing scenes in New York City Serenade (SPOILERS)**

I know other, more talented writers have already tackled this, but mine is awkward! Yay, awkward!

POV is all over the place, and the tense might be inconsistent….

Sorry…

**Takes place right after Walsh goes bananas (uh-hyuck).**

**.**

Emma was angry when she and Killian came down from the terrace and re-entered her apartment.

She threw herself into the task of packing a bag each for herself and her son.

Killian watched her, giving her the space she needed as she fumed, working off the frenetic energy of the day's events and whatever had happened on the rooftop.

Killian wanted nothing more than to collect her in his arms, but that's not what she needed. Her needs would always come before his wants.

When the bags were packed and set aside, Emma combed the apartment thrice, looking at everything and nothing. She frowned into drawers and cabinets, searching for something.

"Swan," he said quietly.

She startled, looking at him with wide eyes for just a moment before she schooled her face into a grimace and looked away, pulling open another drawer.

"Emma," he said in an even softer voice.

He watched her shoulders heave and then slump as she sighed. She straightened her back and turned around to look at him.

She stared at him for a moment, her face tight, brows furrowed. Emotions flickered behind her eyes, and she eventually settled back on anger.

She scowled at Killian.

"He was one of _you_," she spat, poking a finger at him. "He knew about the potion. And he wasn't even _human_."

Killian nodded once, face guarded, listening.

"Eight months!" she exclaimed. "For eight months, he was _playing me_, lying to me."

Emma shook her head, running her fingers through her hair and gesturing up with open hands, as if to shield her head from something.

"Why?" she asked. "Why do I fall for liars and thieves and—"

She cut off and closed her mouth sharply, pursing her lips for a second before speaking again.

"—Freaking _storybook characters_," she finished lamely.

Killian couldn't help the small smirk that turned up the corners of his mouth.

She made a frustrated noise and paced the kitchen for a minute, slamming drawers and cabinet doors open and shut.

"Another drink?" Killian offered, holding up the bottle.

She turned to look at him again. She seemed to weigh options for a moment before she walked around the kitchen counter.

"Yeah," she huffed, plopping down into the chair opposite him and letting him pour her another double.

She threw it back, draining the cup in two quick swallows.

She set her glass down hard and gestured for Killian to refill it.

He did so without comment.

Emma took a sip from the refilled glass, letting the alcohol burn.

"He asked me to marry him," she said quietly, shaking her head and looking down. "At dinner, right after you left. He did this cheesy thing with a dessert with a ring on the plate, and I just bolted."

When Emma looked up, Killian's face was a carefully neutral mask, but his eyes were dark.

"Seems I arrived in the nick of time then," he said with a tight little smile.

She chuffed at that, and then they sat in silence for several minutes, each sipping their respective drinks.

The ticking of the clock behind her annoyed Emma. Looking over her shoulder, she saw it was after ten.

She chewed on her lip for a minute before turning back to face Killian.

"Do you have a, uh, hotel or something?" Emma asked, even though she could guess the answer.

"A what?" he said, blinking.

"Someplace to stay the night," she said.

"I bunked with some rather colorful characters this afternoon," he said, "thanks to you."

He inclined his head and raised his glass in mock toast.

"Yeah, well," she said, grinning for a moment. "Where'd you stay the night before?"

"In the park," he said.

"In Central Park?" she exclaimed. "That's illegal!"

"It's against the law to sleep out of doors?" he said, clearly annoyed. "That's daft."

"You could have been arrested," Emma admonished.

Killian cocked an eyebrow at her, and Emma couldn't help but snort.

"Is it safe to assume you don't have any place to stay tonight?" Emma asked.

Killian was absolutely still for a moment, and then he licked his lips.

"I had hoped that I might stay here," he said, his face guarded but his tone supplicative. "When will your lad be home?"

"Henry's staying the night with a friend," Emma said.

Killian's eyebrows rose. He licked his lips again and Emma watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

"You can stay on the couch," Emma said, gesturing to the piece of furniture with her head.

Killian turned to look at the sofa. He'd slept on smaller cots before. The couch certainly seemed more comfortable than the cold ground of the park. It wasn't as inviting as curling up with Swan, but he wasn't going to push his luck.

He looked at Emma again.

"I've got blankets and stuff," she said. "It's really pretty comfy. I've slept there when I felt sick."

"I'm sure it will be more than adequate, love," he said, "especially compared to the accommodations I've endured the last few nights."

"Oh, and I've got something you can change into," she said, "if you want."

That caught his attention. He cocked his head to the side.

"I bought Henry some pajamas the other day, but they're still too big," she explained. "They might fit you."

"Pajamas?" he asked, curious.

"Sleeping clothes," she explained, gesturing at his ensemble, "without buttons or… leather."

He chuckled at that.

"I'm quite used to sleeping in leather, Swan," he said, grinning.

"I'm sure," she said. "Have you even _changed clothes_ in the past year?"

"Aye," he said.

She waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing more.

"So, um, I'll grab those," she said, standing up.

She hesitated for a moment, one hand on the back of her chair.

"And I really need to take a shower after everything that's happened today," she said, running her hand through her hair again. "Do you mind if I..?"

He shook his head.

She nodded.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm gonna do that first, then."

Emma turned and left—_fled_, if she was being honest—to her room to grab her pajamas and a towel. In the bathroom, she stripped quickly, throwing the outfit she'd worn when her life had dissolved into a heap behind the door.

The hot water helped to relax her body, if not her mind. She washed her hair and conditioned it, the weight of her wet hair heavy on her shoulders.

She tried not to think of it as a metaphor.

When she exited the bathroom, rubbing her hair with her towel, she heard his sudden intake of breath.

His eyes roved over her in a hungry way, but he made no comment. His adam's apple bobbed franticly for a moment as he took her in: Skin flushed from the shower, wearing a thin tee-shirt without a bra and simple drawstring cotton pants.

Emma pretended not to notice his reaction and turned, entering Henry's room to fetch the pajamas she'd promised to Hook.

_Hook._

She realized she couldn't call him that in front of Henry.

Then what would she call him? She asked herself, and she heard her own voice answer in her head: His name, of course.

The memory came sharp and hot, a visceral thing that knocked the wind from her and stabbed her straight in the gut: "_Killian Jones. But most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker._"

It felt like yesterday. It felt like a lifetime ago.

It felt like a dream.

Emma gathered up the pajama pants and a tee-shirt and went back into the living room.

She found him where she left him, sitting at the table with a bottle that was missing a couple more fingers of booze since she last saw it.

She took a deep breath before speaking.

"Killian," she said for the first time, tasting the name, liking the way her tongue flicked across her teeth when she formed the word.

He went completely rigid, and then his eyes went wide and his mouth went slack. He looked like he wanted to get up from his seat but couldn't remember how.

"When I introduce you to Henry," she stammered, "I'll have to call you Killian."

It felt strange to her, saying his name again in context.

"I can't very well introduce you as Captain Hook," she went on, babbling a little.

Her cheeks were pink, but she still had the shower flush, so she hoped he didn't notice.

"Aye," he croaked, staring into his glass. His tone was wistful.

"Here are the pants," she blurted, handing over the pair of plaid pajama bottoms. "I hope they fit. You can change in the bathroom. Do you know how to… uh…"

He looked at her as he accepted the garment.

"My time in prison was quite educational," he said with an upward twist of his lips.

His eyes were still too wide.

"Right, yeah," she said, feeling sheepish this time instead of amused. "Sorry about that."

"All's fair that ends well," he said.

Killian got up and went into the bathroom.

Emma grabbed a sheet and blanket from the linen closet and the extra pillow from her own room. She stripped the extra cushions off the sofa and dressed it as she would a bed, with the sheet, blanket, and pillow.

About a minute after she finished, Killian emerged from the bathroom with his arms full of leather.

Henry's dark grey tee-shirt fit Killian snugly, stretching taut across his shoulders.

Emma watched as the pirate strode across the room to lay his black clothing on the kitchen table. The black and white plaid pants were too small as well, the cuffs landing above Killian's bare ankles. The fabric of the pants hugged Killian's bottom and thighs, and Emma could fully appreciate every step he took away from her by the way the plaid pattern mapped the contours of his backside.

He was clearly wearing nothing beneath the pants.

Emma swallowed hard. She had always appreciated his leather pants, but cotton pants were good, too.

When she finally pulled her eyes up to his face, she found him smirking at her over his right shoulder.

"See something you like, love?" he quipped.

He turned to face her and she _refused_ to dip her gaze, meeting his eyes as boldly as he could.

"Hmm?" She said, suddenly realized he's said something and she hadn't quite caught the words.

He just grinned at her.

"These are a bit tight," he said, tugging at the fabric near his hip with his hand and shifting his weight.

She was certain that he was baiting her. Emma _almost_ flicked her eyes down.

"But," he continued, grinning, "they are more forgiving than leather."

Emma rolled her eyes.

He was standing somewhat awkwardly, Emma realized, and she noticed he was hiding his left arm in the pile of clothing he'd set on the table.

She nodded her head at it, letting him know she'd noticed.

"It's not pretty," he said with a tight smile.

"I'm a big girl," she said.

He hesitated.

"Perhaps tonight isn't the best night," he said softly, dropping his gaze.

"Okay," she said just as softly. "Some other time."

She made it a statement instead of a question.

He nodded.

"Some other time," he agreed.

They stared at each other for another moment, and then he looked away again.

They were standing on opposite ends of the room from each other, and the space between them seemed huge. Part of her wanted to be closer, and part of her wanted to be farther still.

"Is there anything else you need before I turn in?" she asked.

His eyes rose to hers again. He shook his head.

They stared at each other awkwardly, each holding back.

"Hook?" she said, finally.

"Yes, Emma?" he replied immediately.

"Thank you," she said quietly but intently.

He searched her eyes for a moment and then nodded.

"Good night, Emma," he said. "Sleep well."

"You, too," she said. She licked her lips. "Killian."

He smiled, sweet and sad.

She gave him a matching smile and then turned and went into her bedroom. She closed the door most of the way, giving them both some privacy, but keeping the way between them open.

Both were important.

She heard him rustle around in the living room as she settled into bed.

Staring at the ceiling, she heard him sigh as he shifted on the couch. She let out a sigh of her own and closed her eyes.

.

Emma woke to the sound of the intercom buzzing. She sat up drowsily, confused.

Where was she?

Her head was too full of memories and dreams, and she had to close her eyes and hold her head for a moment to try to center herself.

"Swan?"

The familiar, accented voice sounded worried and tentative and very close.

Emma opened her eyes to find Killian standing in her doorway. He had redressed in his leathers and was staring at her with a nervous, searching expression.

"Are you all right, love?"

"Yeah," she said a little breathily. "Just, _full_."

She touched her head as she said the last word.

"Aye," he said with a nod. "That I understand. Can't imagine gaining a decade in an instant, but I've got centuries in here—" he tapped his own head "—and things can get muddled, especially in the morning."

Emma blinked at that. She kept forgetting he'd been in Neverland for so long.

The intercom buzzed again in the background.

"Should you do something about the screaming box?" he prompted after another moment.

"Oh, right, yeah," she said, getting up and going straight to the intercom and pushing the button. "Hello?"

"Mom," Henry's voice said through the speaker. "You guys awake?"

"Uh, what?" Emma said, panicking at his words.

"Is Walsh still there?" he said. "Are you guys, you know, dressed and stuff."

"Henry!" she exclaimed, feeling her cheeks go pink and feeling Killian's eyes on her. "Walsh isn't here. He didn't stay the night."

"Oh," Henry said. "Um, okay. Then, I'll be up in a sec."

"All right," Emma said.

She turned to Killian, who was studiously staring at his hook.

"Um, do you mind leaving for a little while?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, nodding his head, already heading toward the door.

"Go upstairs," Emma called, "so you don't meet Henry as he comes up. Wait twenty minutes, then come back, okay?"

"I'll go fetch some firewood, my lady," he intoned, winking and bowing as he walked backwards the last few steps to the door.

Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed Killian's laundry and bedding. She took it into her room and closed the door. She quickly picked out something to wear and got dressed. She heard Henry arrive as she was slipping on her boots.

"Breakfast?" she said as brightly as she could when she came out into the living room.

"What happened?" he asked, taking a seat at the counter.

Emma walked into the kitchen and began preparing her story and breakfast.

**.**

**Reviews are wonderful things!**


	19. Five Sentence Fics

**Author's Note: Here's a bunch of "Five Sentence Fiction" prompts I did on Tumblr!**

**One of them ended up Rated M, but this fic is gonna stay T. So, if you wanna read the steamy one, I'm afraid you'll have to go to Tumblr (my URL is scheherezade06 and I tagged them "five sentence fiction")… **

**.**

**Prompt: Stuck in the Trunk of a Car**

"I'm going to kill you," she said, trying to bring her arm around so her shoulder wasn't quite so cramped.

"How was I supposed to know the bloody thing couldn't be opened from the inside?" he complained, shifting against her in ways that were utterly _unhelpful_ to their current situation.

"What was the best thing that could possibly happen in this situation?" she demanded, accidentally hitting him in the nose as she finally freed her arm.

"Ooph, well, I had some thoughts," he said, recovering easily and dripping innuendo.

"Oh, yeah?" she said, annoyed and (very slightly) amused. "Then you damn well should have picked a car with a bigger trunk."

**.**

**Prompt: CS Blind Date**

Ruby had set it up, and Emma honestly wasn't sure why she had even agreed to the stupid idea, because she had no desire to babysit some slack-jawed, mouth-breathing primate for the evening, regardless of the bet or the promise she'd made or Ruby's assurances that _this time_ it would be different (Emma still hadn't forgiven Ruby for the Walsh fiasco).

Sitting at her little table in the corner wearing her agreed-upon bright pink dress, Emma gave up watching as various men came in and looked around for their dates, since none of them had given her a third look (she'd gotten several second glances, thank you very much).

And that was why she didn't see him until he was standing at her table, all artfully ruffle hair and black tailored slacks, and half-unbuttoned dress shirt under a charcoal vest.

"Emma Swan?" he lilted in a delicious accent, blue eyes meeting hers as a little smirk curved up his lips. "I'm Killian Jones."

"Huhh, hi," she stammered as she took him in, silently praising her luck and her friend's bizarre sense of humor. "Nice to meet you."

**. **

**Prompt: Tied Up (Went WAY over the 5 sentence limit on this one…)**

Hitting him with an umbrella stand had been cathartic. Handcuffing him to a set of metal storage shelves had been even better.

Maybe she did have a thing for it.

She'd sent Neal—ugh, Neal—back upstairs to Henry and Gold before going through the unconscious pirate's pockets. Neal hadn't even protested.

Alone in the semi-dark storage room, Emma looked down at the broken man in leather. He looked almost peaceful in sleep, different than he had in the hospital.

"What the hell is wrong with you," she muttered as she crouched down next to him, patting down his jacket.

The damn clepto had a random assortment of crap in his various pockets, from bits of rope and rusted iron nails to a Starbucks receipt and a lone stick of Big Red chewing gum. He also had a map of the US coastline from Maine down to New York. It looked like it'd been ripped out of an atlas.

After she'd turned out the pockets of his coat, Emma started on his vest and shirt.

The vest did have a concealed pouch, and it contained a holdout blade, a pair of pins that Emma knew were reserved for picking locks, and a worn and faded drawing of a woman. Emma would bet hard cash that it was the girl from his tattoo: Milah. Emma replaced all of the items in their place. She didn't want him following them right away, but she didn't want him to starve if no one else came down to the dank cellar storage room for a couple weeks.

Emma checked his boots next, finding another dagger and some other survival-type gear.

That just left his pants.

Emma started at the top of his boots and moved slowly up his left thigh, running her palms along the outside and inside of his leg simultaneously. Finding nothing, she repeated the motion on his other leg.

Just as her hand reached the apex of his thigh, he spoke, making her jump.

"Just a little higher, love," he murmured.

"Shut up," she replied, snatching her hands away.

"I just thought you'd wish to be thorough," he said casually. "You really ought to strip me to be sure you've found everything."

He licked his lips as he winked at her.

"Shut up or I'll gag you," she said with a sardonic little smile.

"Ooh," he said, eyeing her lasciviously.

"Do I need to knock you out again?" she said in exasperated tone.

"If that's your preference, love," he said, ridiculously cocky for someone tied up. "Though I'd much prefer to be _involved_ in the proceedings."

Emma rolled her eyes as she stood up, brushing the dust from her hands.

"Good bye, Hook," she said, shaking her head at him.

His eyes narrowed as she backed away from him.

"Swan," he said, clearly trying for a reasonable let's-talk-about-this tone.

Emma turned around and left the storage room, shutting the door behind her.

"Swan!" she heard him yell.

The heavy door muffled the sound significantly.

With a small sigh, she went back upstairs.

**.**

**Prompt: Sneaking Out **

"Mom?" she hears Henry call from downstairs, making Emma go completely rigid as Killian continues to kiss down the side of her neck.

"He can't find you here," she hisses, yanking him by the hair as he protests wordlessly, making unhappy noises into her skin, grazing her throat with his teeth. "Come on, pirate, you need to leave, _now!_"

He starts to say something, but she's half-dragging, half-shoving him out the window before he can articulate whatever hair-brained scheme he has for staying in her bed when Henry is on his way up the stairs to check on her.

Pirate successfully thrown out, Emma pulls the curtains closed at the same moment Henry opens the door.

Emma's mouth falls open when she sees that her son is holding up a very familiar-looking black leather coat.

**.**

**Prompt: Road Trip Bologna**

He hadn't complained once, but she'd seen him shifting uncomfortably for over an hour: long legs and leather pants did not combine well with a small car and a long drive (she she knew she could use a stretch and a snack, too); so Emma found an exit, the sign for which indicated there was gas and food available, and she drove the bug to the little convenience store, pulling up to the curb; they were the only car there at lunch time on a weekday.

All three of them exited the car gratefully (if stiffly), and Henry headed straight for the bathroom in the back of the store while Killian wandered the aisles, solemnly and curiously eyeing the pre-packaged snacks and beverages.

Emma took her turn in the bathroom and picked out her road snacks, keeping one eye on the pirate who seemed fixated on something in the refrigerated groceries section; she went to retrieve him and found him clutching a little plastic-wrapped container of sliced bologna and staring at it with a stricken, unpleasant expression.

"Swan," he said, meeting her eyes with horror, "am I to believe this is not, in fact, some heinous concoction designed to torture men in the custody of the state?"

Emma couldn't help but laugh as she plucked the packet from his fingers and replaced it in the cooler, then she turned to shake her head at him with a grin, making him grimace before he wandered on to the next display, muttering to himself.

**.**

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